


Please, weekend away

by ljummen (Vendelin)



Series: Tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Lack of Communication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendelin/pseuds/ljummen
Summary: Geno and Sid have been together for a while, but things aren’t great.





	Please, weekend away

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was first posted on [tumblr.](http://ljummen.tumblr.com/post/174077486710/prompt-please-weekend-away) It was written for a challenge where anyone could send a dialogue phrase and I would put it in a fic. 
> 
> Anon prompted me: "Please weekend away."

Geno and Sid have been together for a while, but things aren’t great. Geno tries to be grateful for the moments they do get together, alone, which are rare and far apart. But he’s less and less capable of soaking in those moments, and more and more prone to getting bitter every time another one slips through his fingers. 

He’s prepared a dinner, cooked it himself even, with flowers for Sid when a text arrived twenty minutes before Sid is supposed to be here. They’re supposed to have the evening, just the two of them, like a normal couple. For the first time in a month. 

**I need to babysit Alex. Sorry. Raincheck?**

Sid can’t say no to babysitting. Geno knows this. His love for kids is one of the many reasons for Geno’s enormous love for  _him_. The first time he realized he liked Sid as more than a friend, more than a captain, was one of those times when Sid crouched down next to a kid and answered all of their questions with such a patience and warmth. Geno had only been able to watch and feel a weird tightness curls around his chest. 

Now, there’s a new tightness there. A different kind. One that makes him want to throw the pan of lasagna—Sid’s favorite—in the trash. 

For a moment he thinks about replying with something that’ll make Sid feel just as bad as he is right now. But it wouldn’t be fair. 

Instead he locks his phone and concentrates on putting the unused plates and cutlery back where they belong, pretending like the back of his eyes don’t burn. Like there isn’t a twinge in his chest that just refuses to go away, no matter how much he rubs a hand over his breastbone. 

He leaves the lasagna on the kitchen counter and grabs a beer from the fridge on his way to the den. He cracks it open, but leaves it on the coffee table all the same. There’s baseball on TV, but he’s unable to follow the game at all. 

Is it supposed to be like this? Is this how things will be for the rest of their relationship? Him asking for time, and Sid not quite understanding what that means. 

They do spend a lot of time with each other. At practice. Games. But it’s never just the two of them  _for_  the two of them. Sid doesn’t seem to need date nights, or doing nothing together. He’s fine with rushed sex after practice, before heading off somewhere else, or sitting close to Geno at team dinners. 

Staring up at the ceiling, Geno sighs. But can he live like this? With the constant worry that Sid is going to cancel, or change their plans. With the need to breathe in Sid’s smell during a lazy day on the couch or in bed, and almost always unable to do that. 

Sid is the most incredible person he’s ever met. In every way he can think of. But maybe they’re two puzzle pieces who don’t match. Maybe they’re not even from the same box. 

His eyes sting, and his chest is tighter than ever, when he grabs the full can of beer a handful of hours later and pours it out in the sink. Geno drinks when there’s a celebration, not to forget his own sorrows. 

* * *

For a second, he thinks about throwing out the roses he got Sid too. They’re lying on the counter, still in the plastic wrapping. Sid loves getting flowers, but he stubbornly refuses to admit it. Geno has known him long enough to see straight through all of that. 

He leaves the bouquet on the counter next to the now-cold lasagna. Maybe it’ll hurt less tomorrow. It usually does. 

His fingertips are numb as he brushes his teeth and goes through the rest of his night routine. He loves Sid. They’ve never said as much, but he does. But what if loving someone isn’t enough?

Geno wakes early the next morning, expecting the weariness to be gone, or at least lessened. It’s usually better when he’s been able to get a full night’s sleep. But it’s still there, like a dull ache in his core. 

He skips optional morning practice. If someone asks he’ll blame his knee. Tomorrow, the rest of them are going on a short roadtrip, just two days, but that means Geno can practice in peace. So maybe this goddamn injury wasn’t all bad, if he doesn’t count the fact that he’s not allowed to play yet. 

He does some exercises in his home gym instead, just to clear his head. 

It doesn’t work. 

Thinking back on when they got together, maybe he should’ve seen this coming even then. He remembers Sid standing in his kitchen, a little flushed. Beautiful. Geno had just kissed him for the first time, and Sid looked like the moon had just fallen down. 

 _“I’m not good at this,”_ he’d said.  _“You’ll be disappointed.”_

 _“You like me?”_  Geno had asked and Sid had nodded, a little breathless.  _“Then everything work out. If we in love, we make rest work too.”_

And maybe he’d sold a lie, but Sid had smiled, and oh, just remembering it now, it still makes his heart trip over itself, to grow twice its size. 

 _“Okay,”_  Sid had said and kissed him. 

 _“Okay,”_  Geno had said against his lips. 

_“We’ll do our best.”_

Whenever they both do their best, they usually win. Geno had been stupid enough to think that worked for more than hockey. Up until yesterday he just assumed that they hadn’t been trying hard enough. But now? He’s worn out, weary to the bone, and it sure  _feels_  like he’s been trying hard. Harder than maybe ever before. And it doesn’t work. 

He closes his eyes when he walks through the kitchen on his way to the bathroom for a shower. Is he going to get heartache whenever he sees lasagna or roses from now on? Fucking great. 

A couple of hours later, he presses the home button on his phone. It’s still on his kitchen island where he left it yesterday, but it’s dead and…well, that does feel better than the potential cold shower of Sid not texting him goodnight, or asking him why he didn’t show up for practice. 

Geno leaves his phone there for two days. He goes to practice when the rest of the team, except for another few injured guys, heads to D.C. and enjoys going there without a giant lump in his stomach. 

It’s late that Thursday when the doorbell rings. But Geno hasn’t been able to sleep anyway, fretting over having to face Sid tomorrow at practice, so he answers the door without thinking. 

He should’ve known. He should’ve known that Sid would be on the other side. 

Fuck. 

The first thing Sid does is sag in relief, the next is to school his face into the same mask he wears for interviews. 

“Can I come in?” he asks. 

It’s not like Geno can say no. Either way, it’s better to do this here than in the locker room tomorrow. Even though it doesn’t exactly feel that way right now, when Geno steps aside with his heart frozen somewhere in his throat. 

Sid ventures into the kitchen, still wearing his suit and Geno trails after him, albeit slow. 

When he reaches the doorway, Sid is standing frozen at the kitchen counter and Geno’s heart plummets from his throat to the toes of his feet at lightning speed. Nausea hits him like a tidal wave in its wake. The pan of lasagna, pretty gross by now, and the roses, definitely dying at this point, are still there. He’s been eating take out in the den these past couple of days. 

Sid’s throat is working manically as he turns around, eyes raw in a way Geno’s never quite seen before. His chest  _aches_. 

“Did you—did you have a date?” Sid asks, and his voice is quiet, insecure. 

“What?” 

“You’ve cooked. You’ve cooked your lasagna. You only do that when you want to impress someone. You’ve…there are flowers.” Sid shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “I—you haven’t spoken to me in days.” 

And for a terrifying moment Geno thinks that Sid is going to cry with the way his voice breaks over the last word. 

Geno shrugs, unable to find words. “Date not come,” he says finally. 

Sid opens his mouth, and then it’s like he understands what Geno just said, because he flinches like he’s been slapped. 

“I need to go,” he says and Geno manages to get his own brain to function in time to grab Sid’s arm when he forces his way past. 

“Is not—” he says, shaking his head in frustration. “Is not like that.”

“A date? It’s not  _like that_?” Sid looks everywhere but at him, eyes wet and his hands visibly trembling. 

“Is not like that,” Geno says again. “Date not show up, because is you. You the date, Sid.” 

Confusion makes Sid’s face crumple, and his gaze is bare, searching when he looks up at Geno. “I don’t understand. I’ve been on a roadtrip. You know that? I just came back to Pittsburgh.” 

“Lasagna and flowers be there since Monday.” 

Sid looks over at them as though they’re going to tell him if Geno speaks the truth or not. 

“I babysat Alex on Monday,” he says, turning back to Geno. “Tanger and Catherine had date night.” 

It probably shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. For a moment Geno can only shrug, but when he finds his voice again, it comes out thick: “Yes. You send text twenty minute before our date night.” 

Sid frowns at him. “We don’t have date nights.”

At that, Geno can’t help but choke out a laugh and fling his arm out to the lasagna and flowers in a way of saying  _apparently not_. 

Sid is just looking at him, like Geno isn’t making any sense. And it makes the ache even worse. So he heads upstairs and leaves Sid where he’s standing. He’s got a key, he can let himself out. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, face in his hands and a tremendous pain in his chest, counting his own breaths in wait for the sound of the door closing downstairs. It doesn’t come. 

“Are you breaking up with me?” comes Sid’s voice from the doorway instead and Geno jerks. 

And possibly for the first time since he was a teenager, Sid looks small where he’s standing. He’s taken his shoes off and that makes it somehow even worse, seeing him standing there in his purple fucking socks. 

“I think so,” Geno manages and his heart is trying to beat itself out of his chest. 

“Because I cancelled Monday?” Sid says slowly, as though it doesn’t make sense to him entirely.

“Because you  _always_  cancel,” Geno sighs, rubbing a hand over his hair. “We never spend time. I’m so frustrate! I try plan things, be with you, and you cancel or bring team, or decide we go to Flower.” 

“We spend time all the time,” Sid says and takes a step into the room. “We see each other every day. Several hours. I spend more time with you than I do with anyone else. We see each other at the rink, at team dinners. We don’t have to plan that, like Tanger has to do with Catherine.” 

“Is not same thing.” Geno sucks in a breath. “I think we not match. Too different.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Geno needs him to understand, if only because they’re still going to be on the same team and see each other every day. 

“So we date since you nineteen, then?” Geno asks.

“No, of course not.” 

“But you say we spend all time together, no need for date.”

“We didn’t have feelings for each other back then,” Sid explains and Geno’s tactic is obviously not going to work. 

“Is not enough for me,” he sighs. “Is not enough for me to see you with team. I need spend time alone. Maybe day, maybe long evening and morning after. Maybe weekend sometime. Trip in summer. Bye week.” 

“Why?” Sid asks and he so earnestly tries to understand where Geno is coming from, his face open and confused, eyes big and searching. 

“Because I’m need it. Want it. Want be around you, just me and you. Laze in bed, watch TV. Have date night like Tanger and Catherine. Practice, game, roadtrip and team dinner is work with hockey, Sid. But we need work on us too. Can’t do both at same time always.”

He takes a slow, deep breath and tries to calm his racing heart. Forget the pain between his ribs. “I know you not need it, not want it. Is okay. But I need it on regular, need to know we priority for you. So is okay that you can’t give, but is not going to be us anymore.”

“Geno,” Sid says, voice faint. “I didn’t—I told you I wasn’t good at this.”

“It’s not you not good.” Geno tries to give him a smile. “Is not me not being good. We just need different thing. It’s not good match.”

Sid makes a sounds like he’s taken a hit to the boards. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t realize you needed it. I thought I was giving you what you needed.” 

“I know.” 

He expects Sid to leave, but instead Sid steps closer to him. One-two-three-four strides until he’s kneeling infront of Geno on the floor, clasping his hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“I wish you would’ve told me, so that I could’ve done this right.” 

“It’s not right or wrong, Sid.” Geno tries to pull his hands back, but Sid holds them tighter, refuses to let him go.

“It is to me, if it means that I can’t be with you.” Sid swallows and blinks quickly for a moment. “If you need date nights from me, and spending time just you and me, then that’s what I want to give you. It’s not that I  _don’t_  want that. I don’t  _need_ it, but if you do, then we’ll do it. Because I need  _you_.”

For a second, Geno isn’t sure he understands English. “What?”

“Baby,” Sid sighs and squeezes his hands. “I want to go away with you over bye week and take trips between all these goddamn weddings if that’s what you need. I want to be with you for a very long time, and if you need something from me that I can happily give you, then I will.” 

“I think you not want,” Geno mumbles. 

“I wish you would’ve asked before you made your own conclusions.” 

Geno winces. “Sorry.” 

Sid gets up on his feet and cups Geno’s face in both of his hands. “I do need something from you, though. If you still want me.” 

“What?” Because Geno does still want him. 

“That you never shut me out like that again. That you talk to me about what you need.” 

“Okay. Can do that.” 

When Geno wakes the next morning, the twinge in his chest is gone and Sid is sleeping next to him. He pads downstairs and plugs his phone into the charger, before he throws the entire pan of lasagna in the trash and the dying roses with it. 

He checks his phone then and there are a bunch of messages from Sid. 

The first is a picture of him and Alex from Monday. 

Then there are a few text messages too. 

**Did you sleep in? You weren’t at practice. I hope it’s not your knee.**

**Do you want to come over later? I invited Shearsy and Jakey, but I want to see you.**

**The plane is taking off any moment. I wish you could’ve been here with me. I miss you.**

**I miss you. What are you up to?**

**Why aren’t you replying? Did I do something? Are you okay?**

**We’re heading home. I’ll stop by when we land.**

And then, there’s a new one sent late last night, probably after their make up sex and Geno already asleep. 

**I love you. I have no plans for Saturday. Tell me what you need.**

Like he knew exactly how Geno was going to read all the messages once he turned his phone back on. He swallows and his heart is too big for his chest, suddenly. 

Hurrying back upstairs, Geno moves close under the covers and kisses Sid until he wakes up. 

“I take it you’re not mad at me,” Sid says, and Geno can feel him smiling against his mouth. 

“Most mad, but love you too much.” His chest cracks open when Sid giggles. He pulls back, staring into Sid’s eyes and a part of him feels like it’s the first time he sees them. “You say I tell you what I need.”

“Mm,” Sid says and strokes Geno’s hair. 

“Please, weekend away.” 

Sid smiles then, slow and soft. He kisses Geno, before he pulls back and says: “Okay, we’ll look something up over breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://ljummen.tumblr.com)!


End file.
